Let your colours bleed and blend with mine
by AkatsukiPirateGirlX
Summary: An alternate story about Alice and Uncas. But also about Magua and forgiveness.
1. Chapter 1

Her vision has always been good, but it was as if it had gotten overbearingly sharp against her will in the moment she wanted it the least. She wanted to avert her gaze, close her eyes, be blind. But she couldn't look away, couldn't move. As if cruel fate wanted her to catch every moment and every detail of Uncas dying.

Her eyes traced the exchange of blows, the blades of the tomahawks glinting in the afternoon sun. Uncas was a good fighter, after all he just took out five men on his own. But he was young. And Magua was a weathered old warrior. That much was written in every wrinkle, scar and deep trench engraved into his face. Alice heard metal striking against metal, until it was suddenly metal against flesh.

There was a dark flower blooming on Uncas' chest, colouring the green calico shirt black. He stilled and looked down, seeming almost surprised to see himself bleeding so profusely. His right forearm was also slicked with the crimsom liquid coming from another gash there. Their eyes met and Alice couldn't breathe. He must have seen her big eyes pleading him to run and save himself and his deep gaze was answering her. To forget about him. To forget about what happens to him and think about her own well-being. It was also an apology for not being able to do more for her.

They engaged in battle again. Alice couldn't follow what was happening between them while they rolled down a rock, but Magua was quickly back on his feet while Uncas was still lying on his back. It was obvious that standing up was painful and strenuous for his wounded body. Magua waited. Once Uncas was standing once again, Magua striked and plunged his knife into his side in a quick jab. Alice's heart clenched at the hoarse cry of pain it elicted.

In a quick move Magua stepped behind him and grabbed him in a choke hold and it hit Alice in that horrid moment that he was going to slit his throat. No, she thought, I beg you not to. Where were Nathaniel and Chingachgook? She needed to stop him, to buy more time. But she was no fighter and she couldn't move with terror weighting down her limbs. Her need to do something was overwhelming.

"…Magua..." she reluctantly articulated, internally revolting at the thought of speaking that name ever again, but hoping it was enough. It was enough. Magua was caught off guard by the sound of his name coming from her and whipped his head around to look at her, momentarily abandoning his intention. He was somehow surprised and curious at what she had to say. Would she beg for the boy's life? When they just stared at each other and it became apparent that she wouldn't or couldn't say anything else, he returned to the task at hand.

Out of nowhere, Nathaniel jumped onto the path and with an enraged war cry sent a bullet into Magua. He was then quickly engaged into battle with the other Hurons that tried to intercept him. Magua released Uncas and stumbled back, trying to dam the gushing abdomen wound and asses the damage. Uncas' knees gave out the moment he was let go, collapsing onto the ground without a sound. Even though there was a full blown fight taking place around her (which Chingachgook entered with just as much momentum as Nathaniel), Alice couldn't look away from the still body in front of her. She took a few tentative steps in his direction and then just ran to his side.

She hovered her hands above his form insecurely. She didn't want to hurt him further in her ignorance in medical knowledge. But she knew he was still alive for a fact. His face was almost resting atop the blade of his tomahawk, the metal misting over at every exhale of breath. Everything she remembered happening after that was in a haze. Suddenly Cora was kneeling beside her, ripping the shirt off Uncas' body, instructing her to get his head off of the sharp surface of the rock. So then she was just sitting there with his head in her lap, mutely watching Cora try to dam the flow of black blood from the holes and rips that were torn into his torso. There was so much blood she could barely see the wounds: the deep cut with jagged edges under the pectoral muscles and the horrific black hole in his side. Blood was everywhere. It was on the ground, it was on her hands, it was on her skirts, it was in his hair. Cora's forearms looked like they were dipped into a red sticky lake. Nathaniel and Chingachgook joined them at some point and helped wrap his wounds so they could get out of there and tend to them properly when they were safe.

For Alice, the worst part of this experience was when Uncas abruptly regained consciousness. His eyes opened without warning and he blinked at her face, looking almost stunned to have her hovering over him. His mouth parted as if he wanted to say something. Then the agonizing pain must have registered itself in his brain and whatever he intended to say transformed into a gurgling, choked cry of pain. Alice stroked hir dark hair, desperately hoping to ease at least some of his suffering. That didn't matter as in the next moment his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he lost conciousness again. Alice was secretly greatful for that. Just looking at his agony was too much, not to mention actually feeling the kind of pain he did.

His father and brother loaded him onto a makeshift carrier they created from two branches, some blankets and rope. Then they were all off, running for the cover of the forest. Once they were at least hidden from plain sight, Alice grabbed onto Cora's wrist with surprising force she didn't know she posessed.

" Will he live? " Cora's shaken gaze found hers. " I don't know, Alice. I don't know."


	2. Chapter 2

Magua knew.

The moment he saw it he knew. There were many things reflected in both of their eyes, the boy's and the girl's. Fear, blind bravery, the will to live. But he could discern another underlying emotion. By the way they looked at one another, he could tell they belonged to each other. The boy chose Yellow Hair and she wanted to be chosen by him.

While he stumbled off the path and away from the Mohicans in his weakened state, his vision dancing and blood leaving a trail on the ground behind him, he felt resentment. With so many of his warriors dead and himself heavily wounded and defeated, he could not return to his village. His pride would not allow it. But what made him so resentful about the whole situation was the fact that he could still notice and name the subtle emotion hidden in their eyes. Because he once experienced it himself.

And ever since the time that emotion lost meaning to him, he never wanted to encounter it again. It arose memories from him too painful to remember. He longed to erase the knowledge of its existence from his mind, to not be able to see it. All those years he tried to morph his soul and insides into cold stone and fill the dark gaping abysses in his being with it.

He was quite succesful. But evidently not enough. Because for a moment he considered letting them both walk away with no sacrifice. And he would have.

Many years ago.

He shook off the memories. He was not that weak man anymore. He had to think about his own survival right now. He hoped the Mohicans were preocupied with their own wounded or possibly dead member, because if they decided to go after him, he would be awfully easy to track.

He couldn't die now. Not yet. Even though he sometimes wondered why he still wanted to live this meaningless life, he decided he couldn't die in the same meaningless way that he now lived in for years. Because he made a vow:

His life amounted to nothing but waiting for the day his lost pacing in this cruel world would come to an end. And when the void emptiness of the end came for him, he would take with him as many of the white demons who brought the seed of suffering and despair into his life as he could.

He dissapeared into the thick green of the forest, seeking shelter to recover and take care of his injury.

 **Author's note:**

 _I think it's funny how I already have the last chapter's ending scene sketched out, but not the whole story leading to it. But I am determined to write the whole story no matter what._

 _The title of this story comes from the song Crystals by Of Monsters and Men. I think it suits this story quite well._


	3. Chapter 3

Alice watched as Cora worked. She was never able to handle the sight of blood well, but this was different. It wasn't any less gruesome, but this was Uncas. And those injuries were there because of her. So she watched, the shock of the past few hours keeping her emotions pleasantly numb.

She watched how Cora washed away the blood around the chest wound, fully revealing the lenght and the frayed edges of it. It was about the lenght of her forearm and it started as a shallow cut right under the left pectoral muscle and became hair-raisingly deep on the soft part of the abdomen under the ribs. Dark liquids were still oozing from it, albeit slower than before. Meanwhile, Chingachgook disinfected a surgeon needle in the fire and kept a brew of herbs and some misterious paste boiling above the flames. The light of the fire on his serious face emphasized his fatigue and worry and in Alice's eyes made him look older than ever before. Nathaniel was keeping a lookout in case any of the scattered Hurons decided to follow them.

After the gaping chest wound was sewn shut, Cora focused on the stab wound. "The chest wound is severe, but not that dangerous if maintained regulary and properly. It is this one that worries me especially. There is not much I can do about it. We can at least be greatful it's located under the ribcage. A little higher and the knife could have punctured a lung." Alice didn't know what it was like to puncture a lung, but she imagined it wasn't pretty.

All the while Uncas laid still as a corpse. A ghastly pallor settled over him, dulling the usually rich and warm impression his copper coloured skin made on Alice. The thick lashes resting on his cheeks were a dark contrast.

The only thing left to tend to was the cut on the forearm. It was still deep, but compared to the other wounds it looked quite mild. This gave Alice an unsuspected wish to, for once in her life, try her hand at something useful she thought she would never have the stomach to do.

Cora just cleaned the wound and took the needle in hand-"Can I try sewing it?" Cora gave her a shocked look. " You…Alice you've never done this before. Besides, I thought you couldn't stand blood. I'm surprised you were able to watch at all." "Cora please, ever since we arrived here you were able to do something useful and help people. I am just left standing here with no purpouse because all I have learned in my seventeen years in England has no meaning here. And I'm so sick of it. I watched how you do it carefully and you know father always said that I have nimble fingers." Alice pleaded in a hushed voice, ignoring the feeling of deep sorrow that acompanied the memory of her father.

Cora observed her face with slightly narrowed eyes. "This is not the same as regular sewing or embroidery, which I know you were always decent at. Are you sure?" She was not going to fully object against her younger sister learning a valuable and life-saving skill, but the thought of the always so delicate and squeamish Alice willingly touching blood was hard to grasp.

"You can stop me anytime if I will be doing more damage than good." the younger girl reaffirmed, though was not able to conceal a nervous gulp. She would never forgive herself for worsening Uncas' condition.

At least partially convinced by the determination in her voice, Cora nodded. "At least allow me to make the initial stitches, so that I can better explain to you the angle of the needle that is required during the piercing of the flesh."

After the initial detailed demonstration, Alice finally found herself with the needle in hand, poised at the edge of the cut. When the hand that she used to squeeze the edges of the cut closer together first came in contact with the blood, an alien feeling shot through her, but she quickly reined it in. The very first sensation of it against her skin was uncomfortable, very much like the sensation you get when you are feeling your way through the dark and your hand unexpectedly touches something sticky and slimy and you don't know what it is. But she reminded herself that she does in fact know what it is, where it came from and who it belongs to. And that knowledge suddenly made her feel much more at ease.

The beads of blood that pearled around the needle after it pierced the flesh also made her lose focus for a little bit. Therefore the first few stitches came out a little awkward. But Cora pronounced the rest of them surprisingly decent. After finishing the deed, Alice felt strangely restless.

Chingachgook left his spot by the fire and brought to them the pot. The paste from the herb brew was applied onto the stitched wounds and everything was wrapped in bandages made from deer hide. Then the older Indian poured some of the herb brew down his unconscious son's throat. The shadow of worry never left his face. The patient was at last wrapped in a thick blanket. The wisest thing to do now was get some sleep.

Chingachgook handed out blankets and pelts and left to take over the watch duty. When Nathaniel returned to the fire, he and Cora arranged their sleeping spot together and laid next to each other, asleep in an instant. This day took a toll on everyone. Alice was left to herself. Still feeling restless despite the underlying fatigue, she sat down at the young Indian's side.

Nothing about him changed. He has not stirred, the pallor was still there. She knew it was foolish and naive to think that simple and crudely performed medical treatment would somehow speed up recovery, but by God how she wished it would. Would he even make it through the night? In the silence of the night she remembered how shockingly cold his hand was to the touch when she held it during sewing the wound. His skin was always so hot to the touch that her own felt almost frigidly cold. Now it was the other way around.

She shucked the heavy pelt off her shoulders and placed it over his form, taking special care in tucking it under his chin and sides, careful not to upset the wounds. The night air was positively chilly and the ground way too cold to lie on without a blanket, so she stayed in her sitting position, curling her arms around her legs. This was the position in which she kept her vigil, even during the moments when sleep overtook her.

She was awakened by Nathaniel shaking her shoulder early in the morning.

"Time to wake up, princess, we have to move on." Despite the humor in his voice, his face looked drained and his smile strained. Evidence that he was also worried sick about his brother. When Alice stood up, shaking but oddly refreshed from spending the night without a blanket, she noticed the camp was already broken. Both men were carrying their possesions on their person and Cora was lingering over Uncas who was moved onto the carrier, still lying still and quiet.

When the young girl made her way over to them, Cora gave her a shaky smile. "He's still breathing. He woke up for a little while just earlier, you know? Didn't stay awake for long, but he asked for you." Alice felt deeply dissapointed and angry at herself for missing that. But the fact that he asked for her made her eyes water. "I told him you were safe." Alice graced her sister with a tired yet greatful smile. Cora smiled back."But we do need to go someplace safe. Nathaniel, where are we going?"

Both Mohican men came over. "We planned to travel to the Delaware camp, but it is too far for the condition my brother is in. So we are going to pay a visit to some of our dear old friends and ask their permission to stay with them at their cabin for some time. Until Uncas is better. My father feels uncomfortable simply taking advantage of their hospitality, so we are going to offer to them our hunting skills and our protection" explained Nathaniel. The respect and affection he held for those friends of his was tangible in his voice.

"They must be really good people to be held in such high regards in your books. Who are they?"

Nathaniel's face broke into a fond smile.

"The Camerons."

 **Author's note:**

 _Most fics don't include the Camerons, but they are alive and well in this one! They will be an important influence on our main characters. I imagine Alexandria Cameron as this cool lady who is really chill about everything. Even when something out of the ordinary happens, she's just like: okay, let's go with that._ _ezhdgbfgfghhhhhDFGGXKJSCxjsfv_


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note:**

 _I had this dream from LOTM set in the modern days:_

 _Duncan is the owner of a store and has this bitter employee he kinda wants to fire but doesn't have a replacement and the guy still does his job ok. This salty employee is Magua, who always sasses back at him in another language._

 _I thought it was funny._

Alexandria Cameron was the kind of woman who could smell someone's need for help a mile away. No one who knew her would claim it was a coincidence that she was standing on the porch of the cabin, looking in the direction of the forest, when two women and two Indians carrying a wounded third one emerged from the trees.

Her eyes immediately spotted the figures approaching through the evening dusk. She grabbed a musket in case she needed to defend her children. Then she recognized the worn out men. When they came a little closer, the reality of their situation dawned on her.

"Oh my Lord…" She dropped her weapon, hiked up her skirts and ran to meet them halfway. She didn't know the two women, but any friends of Chingachgook were friends of hers.

Alice was impressed by the speed of the advancing woman. She was most likely in her thirties, her shapely face surrounded by bangs of chesnut hair.

"My God, what happened? Nevermind, let us go inside. You are exhausted and hurt. We'll talk later." She supported the sides of the carrier with her arms, relieving some weight from the shoulders of both tired men. As they approached the cabin's doorway, two children appeared on the porch. A girl and a smaller boy. Their initial excited expressions turned into wary confusion when they saw the carrier, the unknown women and only two Mohicans.

"Where is Uncas?" the little boy asked in a forlorn voice. He was too short to see onto the carrier.

They went inside and put Uncas down in front of the fireplace. The fire throwing light onto his pale face and blood-matted hair made the girl gasp and the boy clutch his mother's skirts tightly. Nathaniel uncovered the blanket and pulled up the shirt, explaining the necessity to tend to and rewrap the wounds. When the little boy started crying, Nathaniel ruffled his fluffy hair. " Don't be sad, Lucas. He's doing quite alright for someone so injured. He's holding on." He tickled the child's side. "And I'm sure you know that unlike me, Uncas always lands on his feet."

The wounds were cleaned, fresh salve applied to them and clean bandages put on. Chingachgook prepared the same healing herb brew. The children were sent to another room. No need to upset them further by showing them the extent of the injuries. Finally being safe gave everyone the chance to clean up and fill their bellies with freshly cooked food Alexandria Cameron prepared. Alice, sitting at the table in clean borrowed clothes, never quite remembered shovelling down food in such a unladylike manner. Alexandria sat at the head of the table and listened quietly as Nathaniel retold the events of the past few days.

"Well, you've gotten yourself in quite a mess. But I'm glad the two lasses are safe and sound." She smiled at the sisters. "I just wish it wasn't at the cost of Uncas' health. That boy is like another son to me." Her sad eyes lingered on the bundle of blankets covering the body in front of the fireplace. As soon as the children, Lucas and Elizabeth, finished eating with the rest of the adults, they settled down next to Uncas and sat there like two lost puppies. Elizabeth ocasionally reached out her hand to stroke the dark curtain of his hair. Lucas simply curled up next to him and lay there unmoving.

Mrs. Cameron noticed Alice watching the children. "Ah, they are very attached to him. That's why they are taking this so hard. My poor darlings, this must be such a shock to them." Alice knew it was especially hard for children to deal with the loss (or near loss) of someone dear. After all, she remembered how she felt at her mother's sudden passing. Mrs. Cameron continued after the brief pause. "Especially Lucas. He and Uncas have a special bond. He looks up to him. They have this tradition that has been going on ever since they met, you know? Whenever the Mohican trio comes to visit, Lucas runs straight at Uncas with outstreched arms and Uncas carries him around the cabin on his shoulders. Lucas then always wants to have a storytime straight away, but we agreed on having dinner and rest first." She laughed a little at the memory. Then grew somber again. " Today was the first time the tradition didn't take place."

Nathaniel decided to take the conversation elswhere. "And your husband, Alexandria? Where is he?" "Oh, Jack went trading to Albany. He will be gone for a few days. He'll be glad to find you here when he returns." "Then we will protect you during his absence and repay your hospitality by hunting for your family." Mrs. Cameron protested. "Nathaniel, you know I would take your family in anytime. There is no need for-"

"Alexandria, please." Everyone went quiet when Chingachgook spoke. Those were the first words he spoke in what felt like days. "Let us do this for you." He sounded so tired and not open for negotiation. Mrs. Cameron gave him a long look. "Alright. If it makes you feel better. Now, you all look about ready to drop from exhaustion, so I suggest we all get some sleep."

She stood up to wake the snoozin kids and take them to bed. They protested. "Uncas can have our bed." "Yeah, he can sleep in our bed! It's nice and soft."

Nathaniel quickly intervened to make their mother's work easier. "That's very galant of you, but I think our giant here is too big to comfortaby fit in your bed. Now go on, you can go right back to being his personal guardians in the morning." That was the end of that discussion.

Nathaniel and his father decided to make their beds on the floor. As for the ladies, Mrs. Cameron offered one of them to sleep on her bed in John's place. Cora turned to Alice. "Come on, you go sleep on the bed. I can sleep on the furs next to Nathaniel." But Alice rejected. "No, you take the bed. I can't sleep anyway." Knowing her sister would object, she turned on her heel and walked away from an open-mouthed Cora. She was in no mood to quarrel.

When everything quieted down, she sat down in front of the fireplace, a little way away from Uncas. In truth, she was very tired and her brain was on overload. So she felt completely contented by curling her hands around her knees and staring into the dancing flames. They had a hypnotic effect.

She felt sorry for the kids, having to see all this and causing them emotional distress. They must really love Uncas. She smiled to herself. That should really not have been a surprise. The man himself may be all tall, dark and stoic with sharp features and an indecipherable expression, but he has a soft heart. And he obviously has a way with children. That knowledge made her inexplicably glad. And even more sad for Elisabeth and Lucas.

She lay down, still staring at the fire with unseeing eyes. When her mother died all those years ago, she felt like she had aged for a thousand years. Perhaps it was because her death was so sudden. She didn't have time to prepare herself for it. Her mother was a healthy woman who, for an English lady of the higher class, spent a lot of time caring and fussing over her children. She loved her daughters and wanted the best for them. One day she wasn't feeling well and fell sick. Something akin to a cold and a mild fever, nothing to worry about, said the doctor. Alice was glad to take his word for it. The next day when she returned from a walk in the park with her governess, her mother was gone. After her death, her father threw himself into military work and became even more absent than before. Alice fell into deep depression and it took Cora nine days to get her to leave her room. It was one of the most miserable experiences of her life. She didn't want the Cameron children to go through that. The Camerons were too nice a family to torture so unnecessarily.

Perhaps coming here was a mistake. She wrapped her arms around herself and curled into a ball.

And noticed a pair of dark eyes blinking at her sleepily from inbetween the blankets.

She lifted her head and rubbed her eyes. Her vision has not deceived her. Uncas was conscious. He must have just awoken, but he looked ready to fall right back into a coma. He was fighting to keep his eyes opened. Not wanting to disturb the sleep of others in the room by walking over the creaky floorboards, she used her elbows to crawl closer to him. After some disoriented looking around, his gaze focused on her face. A relieved exhale escaped his lips. He didn't voice his thoughts, but Alice guessed he was relieved to see her alive and well in the flesh. Which was ironic, because she was the one with the right to feel relieved.

It took him a while to find his voice. When he did, it was hoarse from disuse and barely above a whisper. "You are well."

"You are not," she countered gently. He made a movement with his head, ignoring the statement as if it was of no importance.

"Where are we?" He lifted his head off the comforter with obvious effort, trying to take a better look at his surroundings. As much as she wanted to gently push his head down and relieve the strain he was putting on himself, she didn't dare touch him. Perhaps her clumsy touch would destroy the delicate miracle that was him waking up, showing some signs of getting better.

"The Cameron family's cabin."

Uncas dropped his head and closed his eyes, processing that knowledge for a while. That meant the whole Cameron family had to see him in his poor condition. They were good friends and cared about each other, so him being wounded must have been very upsetting for them. Being as perceptive as ever, despite his weak state, and tuned to guessing how a certain situation affected others, he inquired about the most sensitive parties in this situation.

"How are Luke and Liza doing?"

"Who? Oh. You mean…they were worried and wanted to stay with you the whole night. It will make them feel better to know that you have awakened." Uncas couldn't help but smile a little bit. How very like the stubborn siblings. "Everyone is worried sick about you." Alice added quietly.

His bottomless eyes searched hers carefully. "Is that why you are so sad? You shouldn't be."

So he noticed how pitiful and miserable she looked, curled up on the floor and staring into the flames. Her fists clenched. "I…I don't want…I don't like people dying because of me."

Uncas understood what she meant, but he was perfectly aware of what he was doing that day when he ran after the leaving Huron party alone. What he was sacrificing. He knew that she would disagree with his choice (just like he would have disagreed with hers, if their roles were reversed), the grief his death would cause his father. Just before he ran after them, he touched his shoulder, a silent gesture asking forgiveness. He wanted to apologise to him a thousand times more, but he was out of time.

But even if his battle with Magua resulted in his death, it would still be worth it. Because Alice was a special girl. He knew it the moment he saw her. She wanted to live. During the attack on George road, she and her sister were huddled together, looking lost and scared. Alice more so than Cora. But unlike her sister, she wasn't petrified. He knew with a certainty that if there was no Duncan to shield them from the incoming men, she would turn on her heels and run to save her life. Her sister would not. She would stay frozen on the spot, either in shock or defiance, and she would be killed.

He regreted nothing. He wanted her to live a beautiful life. He wanted to be a part of her beautiful life. And if not in this one, then in the next.

"You are tired. Rest." he gently coaxed her, seeing the dark circles under her eyes. She kept staring at him. He realized she was afraid to let him out of her sight. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll be alright now, I promise."

"…Ok." He watched her turn away from him, although remaining in the same spot. Now that she wasn't watching him, he could finally admit to himself how utterly destroyed he was feeling ever since he woke up. He was the one who needed rest. But he didn't lie to her. He would be alright now. It will take a long time for things to go back to the way they were, but he would be alright.

Alice rested her cheek in the palm of her hand. Tonight she could sleep peacefully. She trusted Uncas. If he said he would still be here in the morning, she will find him right there beside her when she wakes up.

Also, it was now obvious that Uncas was one of those people with the annoying trait to still worry about others while he himself was on the verge of death.

"Idiot" she murmured into the worn carpet, not knowing exactly whether to laugh or cry about it.

 **A/N:**

 _Thanks to the people reading and reviewing :)_


	5. Chapter 5

The world was spinning and he was starting to see things. Because the wound was not healing.

A few days ago, after making certain he had no pursuers and was safely concealed among the dense bushes and smaller trees growing around the roots of a forest giant, Magua focused on effectively taking care of himself. Despite the blood loss induced dizziness, he carefully and methodically cleaned the entrance and exit wound, went through the plants of the undergrowth to find medically useful herbs and after a short rest, moved deeper into the forest to find a hidden place where he could heal in peace.

Once he had a hideout, he crushed and applied the herbs to the wound, chewed on the bark of an elm tree and took advantage of a few other tricks one can learn from the Huron's medicine man.

Under constant and persistent care, the wound got better. Then it got worse. Even though there was an entrance and an exit wound, Magua suspected a part of the bullet remained in his body. He tried to find it and take it out, but performing surgery on one self was something only the most skilled and steel-nerved doctors were known to pull off. Not to mention he lacked proper tools.

There was only so much he could do on his own. There was a chance he could extract the bullet fragment with the help of another pair of hands. But he was alone. He thought about his decision to not return to his village. He should have gone home, but decided he could not return a failure. Even if he turned back now, he doubted he could even make it halfway, as his condition was deteriorating quickly. The bloody hole blown in his torso was infected and he was developing a fever. Perhaps it was better this way.

Still, he put all his knowledge to use to slow down the infection. He was currently searching through the tree roots for a particular plant with such an effect. He didn't dare wander too far away from his hideout. His movements were sluggish and clumsy. The high fever was affecting his agility and state of mind. It also made him too weak to hunt for meat, so his only source of sustenance were the scattered nuts and berries he could find.

His usual healty self had no troubles avoiding the dark corners of his mind and the things hiding there. Years of practice enabled that. But in this state, he was left vulnerable to the demons of his past.

Finding what he was looking for, he started making his way back to the hideout, stumbling and having to lean heavily on tree trunks. Every time his eyes closed, flames danced in his vision, painting the world red. The delusion of the fever burnt behind his eyelids the regal silhouette of a man with a pompous hat, sitting on a horse among the flames of burning wigwams. Despite refusing to think about it, he knew who it was. The memory went back to a time when he was not Magua the Huron War Chief or Le Renard Subtil. To a time when he was just Magua.

It was when it all began. The man towering above him was the crown of the chaos and wreckage unleashed upon their peaceful world. Their homes were burning. Men and women and children were littered over the ground, laying all quiet in death. He was lying on the ground too. The pointy knees of the Mohawk kneeling on top of him were digging into his belly and his shoulder joints burned from his arms being tied so tightly behind his back. Only half conscious from inhaling so much smoke, his eyes looked at the figure towering over him. He couldn't see the colour of the uniform or the face hidden in the shadow of the hat, but the grey hair stood out from the red background.

It was the one detail that went with him into slavery. The Mohawks were cruel, but fair. In time he earned their trust and became their so called blood brother. But he missed his home and longed to see the remains of his family. One day he snuck away and traveled to his village.

Only to find his wife married to another man. She believed he was long dead. So many suns have set since he was taken away and it was rare for prisoners of the Mohawk to ever return. Her belief was understandable. It didn't hurt any less, though.

His Mohawk brothers never found out where he went. But wherever the Magua they knew had gone, a different man came back. Colder, more somber. They didn't dwell on it too long and used the occasion of their lost comrade's return to celebrate. There was plenty of fire water. Some drank to have fun, others for the heck of it and Magua drank to forget.

As the Mohawks were allies to the British, Magua once found himself among the few chosen scouts to receive orders directly from the commanding Brittish War Chief. When he set eyes on him, he immediately saw it. The grey hair. And he felt so…so confused.

The faceless man from the night his village was burnt to the ground loomed over the carnage like a creature feeding on doom, his imposing form radiating authority and making Magua numb with dread. Or maybe that was just because of the shock he was in when he first saw him. After all, he had just witnessed a massacre. Because there was no way that this small, wrinkled old man was that same person. Right now, he was looking at him and his fellow scouts with a reserved but approacful look, trusting them to carry out his every request, gracing them with a small smile here and there.

It made Magua want to kill him on the spot.

But all the tragedy he went through made him cunning and calculating. He would not simply kill Greyhair, he would make him suffer as well. He would wait and observe, until he knew of all his weaknesses and then he would strike.

The arrival of Greyhair's daughters was the perfect opportunity. The rest of the story played out as it did.

When he finally managed to break free from the vivid memories, he found himself slumped on the ground between the roots of a tree. He must have tripped. He leaned back against the trunk and let his head loll back. The tree tops were spinning wildly, the branches bending in unnatural ways. The fever has gotten bad enough to cause hallucinations. At least he hoped they were hallucinations.

He dared not to turn his head to the left, where his deluded mind perceived two forlorn, small shadowy beings lingering between the leaves. They followed him wherever he went, trailing behind him, trying to keep up. Never coming too close, just peeking at him from behind trees.

"Go back. I'm sorry." he heard himself rasp. Seeing him as he was now would make them dissapointed. He dared not to look in their direction, as seeing them would make him feel burning regret and shame. Regret for the way things came to be and shame at himself for not being able to do more for them.

Their presence, even if only a figment of his overheated mind, was making him distraught. That's why he had locked them in a remote part of his head and refused to think of them ever since the day they died.


	6. Chapter 6

The next few days were a bombardment of new experiences for Alice. Life on the frontier was nothing like the way of life in England. She of course knew that from the start, but didn't imagine it consisted of so many elements. It required a high amount of resourcefulness and improvisation. You had to be able to look after your own needs.

She was surprised to learn that most of the Cameron family's food didn't come from a market, but was either grown in the garden behind the cabin or reaped from the forest. Even when the Mohicans weren't able to visit and bring fresh game with them, meat was not scarce as Mr. Cameron was quite a proficient hunter himself. Alice got the scare of her life when she walked out of the cabin early one morning and came face to face with a skinned deer carcass, hanging from a rafter.

Taking a bath was defined as taking a dip in the cold river, mending something broken was nobody else's problem but yours, clothes were often a bunch of seemingly useless, discarded materials cleverly sewn together. And since it was a wild place to live in, you had to be constantly on your toes, prepared to defend your home and yourself. She sometimes couldn't help but wonder how such a gentle woman as Mrs. Cameron could live this life so peacefully and without complaint.

Uncas was getting better every day, much to everyone's relief. At first he was still falling into that deep comatose sleep, but was soon able to stay awake for longer periods of time. He was in pain, but hid it well behind an impressive poker face. He could handle being in a sitting position if sufficiently propped up against something, but needed help getting in and out of it. Because of the knife wound in his side, the mobility of his upper body was still very limited. Cora still worried about it and insisted he be put on a diet consisting of no solid foods, as any of the digestive organs could have been punctured and therefore shouldn't be put under any heavier activity for a while. She also informed Uncas that she feels indebted to him for saving her little sister and could ask her for a favour anytime.

Nathaniel was happy with the progress of his brother's recovery. Some were still concerned. His father and Alexandria constantly loomed over him and were at his side at his smallest gasp. He had a feeling this drove Uncas up the wall a little bit. He was never one to enjoy being the center of attention. Nathaniel also had a feeling that his brother wished to have more company of the youngest Munro lass and perhaps talk to her in private again, just like they did the first night at the Cameron's cabin (he heard their hushed whispering from where he was resting). Having Elisabeth and Lucas around made that more than impossible.

The kids were ecstatic when they learned Uncas was going to be fine. They wouldn't leave him alone until their mother sternly ordered them to do so. After Mr. Cameron's return from Albany, the cabin's living space became even more crowded, but the company was more than pleasant.

Alice and Cora helped with the daily chores. Work was hard, but gave a sense of fulfilment and satisfaction when finished. While Cora was already acquainted with most of the chores, it was Alice's first time doing many of them. Unused of hard work, she tired quickly and the softness of her hands was replaced by hardened skin, left behind after the passing of the blistering phase. Despite becoming frustrated from time to time, she had to admit that actually doing some concrete work for the first time in her life gave her a strange sense of confidence. Her favourite chore was washing clothes in the river with Mrs. Cameron. Not because of the washing itself, but because Mrs. Cameron had all those interesting stories and experiences to tell. While they kneeled next to each other on the river bank, rinsing out shirts, she told Alice about how she came to America and the life here. She also answered any question Alice could come up with.

That way, Alice came to learn about the relationship between the Cameron family and the Mohicans.

Apparently Chingachgook and Mr. Cameron went way back. They met as young men, bumping into each other somewhere in the forest and after a brief and armed face off, became reluctant friends. Through time their friendship grew, they became married men and fathers. Their families bonded with each other and remained good, trustworthy friends ever since.

Mr. And Mrs. Cameron engraved into their children a deep respect for Chingachgook as their senior and also as an Indian, as they lived in a community that lacked that respect. And while the two siblings soaked up the lesson about respect well, that didn't make them shy to show their affection towards Chingachgook by sometimes climbing into his lap without invitation. His sons were on the receiving end of it as well.

While Nathaniel was also very well loved by the siblings, he didn't have nearly as much patience for their antics as Uncas. The young Mohican always listened to Luke's childish babbling very attentively (of which lesser men quickly grew tired of, or lost track of), sagely nodding to it here or there. Because of Uncas, Lucas was also the Cameron family's connoisseur of Native American legends, the specialist in the field of Mohican tribe history and knew how to set traps and kill bears in theory.

Alice found all this information very endearing. She liked staying with the Camerons. But she knew the stay was only temporary. What was going to happen next was unclear to her.

She came face to face with reality quicker than she thought. Out of the blue, Cora pulled her to the side. And told her about her decision to stay here with Nathaniel and not return to England. She expressed her wish for Alice to stay with her, but made it clear that she will not force her to stay, if she decided to return home to the known and familiar world. Alice promised to think about it.

A week ago the decision would be made without thinking about it twice. But so many things have happened since then. Alice couldn't pretend she wouldn't feel safety by returning to her old ways of life and habits. To live the comfortable English lifestyle and spend her days gossiping with friends from Portman Square. But just there lay the heart of the problem. She wasn't so sure she would fit in anymore. Other girls she knew would always be able to talk about fashionable dresses and accesories lightheartedly. Such idle talk felt so meaningless and void of importance after seeing the things she saw. She had a notion she wouldn't be able to sufficiently participate in conversation and most certainly couldn't explain what happened to her in America. They would sympathize with her, but wouldn't understand. And she couldn't carelessly waltz from party to party with the knowledge that Cora and the Mohicans could be in danger the very same moment she was sampling tarts and having tea.

There was also Uncas, who made it very clear how he felt about her. She couldn't just discard that, especially since she knew he was being serious.

This actually wasn't the first time she caught the eye of a male's attention. There were a few gentlemen back in London who courted her for a while. They sweet talked her and tried to woo her with gifts. She was secretly flattered by their attention, but knew from the experiences Cora (who had a lot of admireres) told her about to not be convinced too quickly or take it for granted. An English gentleman's fascination had the tendency to be rather fleeting, lasting only up to the moment something shinier caught his eye. And London had many beautiful, shining girls.

And despite these gentlemen's claims that they would do anything for her, she knew they would never sacrifice themselves for her in a life or death situation. Because they didn't truly care about her. But Uncas did. One is not just simply willing to risk their life for a brief infatuation.

And she cared for him too, she came to realize. She knew it ever since he pulled her back from the edge of the waterfall, but could finally consciously admit to it when he came for her at the cliffs. She wasn't sure how she deserved such a decent human being to care for her so deeply, but she was prepared to cherish and return that feeling for as long as he would let her. If she could do that, than staying here would not be that bad at all.

Just as that realization lifted her mood a little bit, an unexpected dark thought entered her mind. Her father would have never accepted this. As much as he loved her, doted on her and sometimes went out of his way to make her wishes come true, he would have never allowed this. Her being with Uncas. He wanted her to marry a wealthy English man of high social status. He wouldn't settle for anything else, especially a red man, a savage. Now that he was gone, thinking of Uncas in that way felt like insulting his memory. And what would be Cora's opinion on this?

These dark thoughts visited her just as she was once again washing clothes with Mrs. Cameron.

The older woman immediately sensed her darkened mood, but smiled sagely. "What's going through your pretty head to upset you so, darling? It better not be anything related to Uncas. Let me tell you, you have nothing to worry about."

Alice gaped at her. How did she know? Mrs. Cameron laughed at her startled expression.

"It is quite obvious what's going on. The way you two look at each other. Once he is fully recovered, he would make a wonderful husband, you know." She gave Alice a playful smile.

Alice stiffened at her words. She was embarrased that Mrs. Cameron could see through her and Uncas so easily. But she was also shocked that she could speak so freely and without restraint about a topic that was never discussed out loud and was a taboo in public.

Alexandria was ahead of her again. "It is true that it is not a widely known and therefore not widely accepted phenomenon, but that shouldn't stand in your way. If you two truly belong with each other, nothing can stop you. Especially the colour of your skin."

Alice could only stare at her. Here words were having…a very encouraging effect. Mrs. Cameron just smiled.

"Go for it."


	7. Chapter 7

Ever since he could finally stand on his feet again, Uncas took walks into the forest.

His injuries were far from healed. That's why his walks were pitifully short in the beginning, his steps small and unsteady. He also needed a crutch to lean on. The first stroll he attempted didn't get him further than a few paces from the porch. But he was making progress. He could walk farther every day.

On the contrary to his father's belief that the main purpose of his frequent walks was to build up strenght, the real reason behind them was to get away from everyone. He knew they meant well, but they were overbearing at times. Constantly checking on him, wanting to assist him at every movement he made. On the outside he remained smiling and grateful, but it was driving him up the wall.

He was a man who needed his own peace and quiet. The crowded cabin couldn't offer that. But the forest had an instant calming effect on him. Ever since he was a child, really, not just now. After being among the greenery for a while, he could always return to the cabin refreshed, ready to put up with the immediate concern about his well-being again.

His father once said that this was the biggest difference between his sons. Nathaniel craved being surrounded by people, interacting within a community. If the atmosphere was too calm or quiet, he was often known to pick a fight, just to get something lively started. Even when they were children attending Reverend Wheelock's school, Nathaniel used any excuse to start drama. Uncas smirked. Even though he himself was never the troublemaker, he enjoyed being a spectator to his brother's disputes (and when a fight got really out of hand, his backup). But he personally prefered calm and less crowded enviroments. Therefore he was perfectly contented with traveling through the forests with just his father and brother.

Today he planned to go further than any prior stroll has taken him. He knew he would be exhausted, so he secretly smuggled some food from under Alexandria's watchful gaze and took it with him. She would recognize his lunch as a sign that he planned not to return for quite a while. Concerned as always, she would immediately notify his father and Chingachgook would tie him to a bed to stop him from leaving if he had to.

The sky was clear and the day pleasantly warm. Good weather, he noticed, reduced the uncomfortable and stabbing pain in his wounds. His pace of walking was slow, sluggish even. His weight had to be heavily supported by the crutch. But he didn't mind. It gave him an opportunity to more fully observe the beautiful nature surrounding him.

He often needed to stop and catch his breath. Regardless of how much time his frequent rests were consuming, he was slowly but surely getting somewhere. He had no fixed destination in mind. He went where he felt like going. Down a forest path, across a meadow. Anywhere where the terrain wasn't too much or too steep for his crutch. He worked up quite a sweat along the way.

By the time he reached a clearing, a couple of miles away from the cabin by his judgement, he was positively exhausted. But very satisfied with his achievement. He should probably not have gone so far (he was surely going to get an earful upon his return), but he trusted himself to build up enough strenght to make his way back. There was a big, flat rock surface in the clearing, all warmed up from the sun. He wished to lie down on it and bask in the warm sunlight, but was afraid he wouldn't be able to get up on his own again. The muscles in his torso were still damaged and weak, unlikely to lift his whole upper body from a horizontal position.

So he settled for just awkwardly sitting down and eating the lunch he brought with him to replenish his strenght. The air around him was warm and filled with the songs of birds, the clearing buzzing with life. Sunlight reflected from the leaves, making them gleam like emeralds. He sighed. That was exactly what he needed. The view and the atmosphere made all his efforts worth it. Such comfortable surroundings made daydreaming inescapable.

He wondered what it would be like to live in a place like this. To build a cabin in such a beautiful and secluded clearing. There was nothing wrong with living in a village full of wigwams, but still. On their travels, he and his family often stayed in the Delaware camp. It was nice to have some more company every once in a while. Nathaniel absolutely basked in it. But as he said, it could all get too much quickly. At such times he desperately wanted to leave the bustling camp and return to the quietness of the forest.

That was also one of the reasons why he was putting off his father's insisting wish to marry a Delaware woman, the first one being that he never got to know any of them better. Sure, he talked to some and maybe for someone like Nathaniel that was more than enough to call them friends and to claim he knew them well, but for him it barely scraped the surface. It was in his nature to be reserved around people he didn't really know, and suddenly being married to one of them was that much more uncomfortable to think about. Because you have to give your all to your wife and he just coudn't do that for someone he barely knew. He didn't want the Delaware girl he could potentially marry to suffer. And second, that would make him tied to the Delaware camp permanently. It was hard for him to grasp that idea. He could of course still build a secluded cabin and ask his wife to move there, but Delaware girls were used to the always social way of life and didn't like leaving the bustling camp much. And Uncas realized that being in the crowded camp forever would make _him_ suffer.

But just because he wanted to live in a more secluded place and didn't want to marry a Delaware woman didn't mean he wished to be isolated and alone. He always wanted a family, just with the right person. He didn't really find one until now. Until Alice walked into his life. Well technically speaking, she came into his life riding a horse. Even better.

She was truly special. A kind and compassionate spirit who sometimes also tended to stray away from the most crowded path. If there was anyone he saw himself sharing his life with, it was her. He just truly hoped she saw it too. He wasn't quite certain, as she also wasn't one to show her feeling openly.

After finishing his meal and ending his contemplation on a pleasant note, he felt much better. The warmth of the sun burned the majority of the pain away and left him feeling well rested. After some awkward shuffling he was on his feet again. It was time to go back.

But his pleasant mood and the beauty around him urged him to go just a little further. Just a little deeper into the gleaming forest. Why not, he thought and indulged himself.

The part of the forest he was now in was very thick with growth. The sunlight only managed to penetrate the tree tops here and there, giving it a more mystic impression. It was harder for him to move around on such uneven ground and so he decided to turn back. But not before having a thorough look around, drinking in the enchanting setting. The trees were old and big, their roots dipping in and out of the ground, elegantly curling around each other like giant snakes. Some trunks were fallen over and covered with moss and mushrooms, looking like bridges to another world. It was breathtaking. There were some bushy branches, very naturally settled between and over one of the fallen trunks and the roots of a tree. They looked almost like they were broken off during a storm. Almost.

Uncas wouldn't even register the slightly odd angle of their placement if something else wouldn't suddenly blind him, falling right into his eyes. A glint of light, reflecting from inbetween the branches. That made Uncas look at the whole branch structure again and notice the squashed, trampled undergrowth around the area. His blood ran cold. Someone has been here. Recently.

And guessing that the glint from inbetween the branches was reflected from a weapon or some other metal tool stored in there, they were still around somewhere. He froze on the spot. He had his tomahawk with him, but was defenceless. He couldn't wield the weapon with his injured upper body. A gun would also be hard for him to use, but definitely easier. He should have brought a gun, shouldn't have underestimated the dangers one can come across. How careless of him. How stupid.

He willed his rushing thoughts and racing heart to calm down. He reassured himself that since nothing has stirred inside the branch den, it was currently empty, its occupant away somewhere. He knew he should turn back immediately and, as quickly as he could, hobble away while he still had the chance. But something got the better of him. It wasn't curiosity, it was something more like worry. Because whoever made his spot here, it was awfully close to the home of the Camerons and other settler families. A few miles might sound like a lot, especially since it took him so long to get here, but for a healthy man it was nothing. And he knew from experience that usually such random, well hidden dens in the forest meant nothing good. He, Nathaniel and his father have come across such dens before in the past. They were usually inhabited by bandits, Indians gone rouge or other men that were involved in some kind of illegal, bloody buisness. Finding one here, so close to the settlements, made his hair stand on end.

He knew it was dangerous to linger here longer. The den's inhabitant could return at any time. But his protective instincts were kicking in and he had to investigate. If it was indeed the shelter of some bandit, he had to warn the Camerons. His father and brother would be prepared for the possibility of attack and would protect them.

He stepped closer. The den was put together really well. It blended in with the surroundings, looking like a natural part of the scenery. When Uncas got really close, he started noticing some strange things. There was a crudely made wooden drinking bowl sitting in the moss, filled with water. But the surface was littered with leaves and other things that fall from the tree tops and a few drowned bugs were floating in it. This indicated the water bowl was sitting there for at least a few days, untouched. He furrowed his brows. He also noted a trail of ants leading to the den and dissapearing into it.

He followed them with his eyes and nearly had a heart attack when he spotted a pair of moccasin clad feet through the leaves. The inhabitant was inside the whole time. But he hasn't moved an inch, hasn't reacted to Uncas' not so subtle approach. Something was wrong.

It was also then that Uncas caught the smell. It wasn't strong, but it was foul. Remaining cautious, he pushed some of the branches out of the way.

He never asked what happened to Magua, but from the way everyone tried to avoid and dance around that specific topic, he knew the Huron got away. He honestly didn't give it much thought, concluding the man dragged himself back home. As long as he never saw him again, he didn't care what became of him. But he did see him again. He was right here. Uncas didn't know how to feel about that.

Magua looked like a corpse. His skin was of a gray shade, sickly discoloured against the colourful shawl covering his body. The fabric had a nice shine to it in places that weren't stained with dried blood and pus. There were different things scattered around his body. Uncas recognized a few medicinal plants and paste made from bark, bloody scraps of fabric used as bandages, the knife and tomahawk at arm's lenght. There was also a handful of berries, which the Huron was too sick to eat, now lying squashed under his arm. It was hard to say what attracted the procession of ants and flies. The berries or the smell of infection and decay.

Was he dead? That was the only thing Uncas wanted to know. He carefully studied the face of the torpored man before moving closer. He awkwardly slid down the crutch to his knees and loosely grabbed one of the sinewy wrists. He spent some time feeling along the inner side of it, pressing his fingers into the flesh, but feeling nothing. Just as he was trying to decide if he did in fact detect the smallest, weakest trace of a pulse, Magua's other hand came around his own body and took a hold of his wrist. His eyes didn't even open.

Uncas coudn't swallow a muffled yelp of startlement. Magua's grasp was too weak to hold on to him and he yanked his wrist out of the clutch with ease. So he was alive. Somewhat. Uncas didn't know whether he should feel dissapointed.

This was a very mentally and morally chalenging situation, which he hasn't been prepared to deal with. So he just sat there for a while, staring into nothing and trying to decide if he was obliged to do something and what. Perhaps put the old fox out of his misery? Whenever he tried to think of his next course of action, his mind just went blank and didn't have an answer.

Therefore he left the scene confused and slightly numb in the mind, leaving Magua as he lay. He only had just enough wits about him to put the branches he removed back in place, covering his body.

When he returned to the cabin, he nodded dutifully to every chiding word Alexandria Cameron bestowed upon him for worrying his father and the others sick. But her words didn't quite get through to him. He still couldn't comprehend how he managed to walk straigh into their enemy and how exactly did Magua end up like he did? He knew asking the others about what happened at the cliffs after he passed out would shine some light on the whole thing, but he didn't want anyone to suspect anything. Not yet, at least. He had to sort out his feelings and thoughts and consider how this could affect the others.

During supper Alice carefully asked him where he went, others also looking at him expectantly. He humored them and told them about the things he saw on the way, but kept his mouth wisely shut about his discovery.

 **A/N:**

 _I really don't know the distance between the cliffs on Huron territory and Cameron's cabin (I think it's a lot), but for the purpouse of this story it is shorter._

 _Also I have an exam comin up, so I'll be writing the next chapter a little slower._


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** _Sorry for the 2 week wait, but I have a lot of things to study for. Vet school is hard and I can't afford to fail the first year. But do know that I think about this fic all the time and I already have most of the story sketched out._

So he left dying Magua where he found him, reasoning he was a man with a twisted heart who didn't deserve to live after what he did to the Munro sisters.

Only to find himself walking back the next morning.

Upon waking up, Uncas had a clearer mind, a well rested judgement and was feeling calmer. Sleeping on the matter helped and he was able to assess the situation again.

What he really couldn't understand was why Magua was so far away from the Huron territory , where the cliff battle took place. Assuming he was wounded there, he could have gone home and would have been treated by the healers in his village. His injuries were obviously too great for him to handle on his own. So why not go home to his family? The distance was probably much shorter than the one he covered to get to the spot he was at now.

The cunning Huron was many things, but Uncas never pinpointed him for someone who doesn't value his life, especially since his current horrid state could have been avoided. But he must have had his reasons, he supposed.

His condition was grave. That was, if he was still alive. Only nighttime has passed since he left the unresponsive Huron there, but he could have easily died during the night. He already looked like a corpse, actually becoming one would be quick to follow. Perhaps he shouldn't have just walked away.

Uncas lightly shook his head from side to side. The man in question was their enemy. Deciding what to do should have been easy and clear. To finish him off. But the young Mohican was suddenly faced with a realization he never experienced before. Killing someone and holding somebody's life in your hands were two completely different things. Sure, he has killed people before and leaving Magua as he was would also result in his death. But despite the same outcome, it was one thing for Uncas to kill a tomahawk wielding opponent who was trying to do the same, and another to make up his mind to set death on someone who couldn't even move.

Uncas didn't feel comfortable making such decisions. Who was he, to have the right to rule over who lives and who dies? In his opinion, that was something better left to the gods.

On the contrary to his father and brother, he didn't loathe Magua for the injuries the man inflicted upon him. If he was being honest with himself, he was the one who came asking for it. For a good cause, but still. But the Huron's hate for the Munros and his attempt to harm Alice and Cora was the thing Uncas couldn't get over. When he saw Magua leading Alice away, he had to stop him. Who knew what he was going to do with her? With the hatred that filled him, he would be capable of simply shooting her or pushing her off the cliff the moment he was out of the Sachem's sight. It was that insecurity of Alice's fate and lack of insight into Magua's revenge crazed mind that burned hot and nauseating in the pit of his gut. It was that irrational obsession and cruel behaviour of Magua's that Uncas truly couldn't stomach.

He was aware that his discovery was not something he could just casually mention over tea, but the others had the right to know. He will have to find a way to let them in on it as gently as possible. Just thinking of the possible outrage that could erupt upon the news (he was certain that Nathaniel will try to find and kill the Huron immediately) made his head hurt. Just letting him die would be so much easier. But he was also aware that doing that would come to haunt and niggle at him in the middle of the night. And he always went to bed with a clear conscience.

He was especially worried how that would affect such a gentle creature as Alice. Knowing that her tormentor was alive and nearby will surely cause her a lot of stress. For now, the only decision he came to was to inform the others one by one. Telling all of them at once would only cause a greater outburst.

As was in his nature, he preferred to do things as soon as possible.

" Of course I still consider myself indebted to you, but I sincerely hope you have a reasonable favor to ask of me. Where are we going, sneaking away from the cabin in such a manner?" Cora complained, fighting her way through the thick bushes, still with less finesse than Uncas with his crutch.

Uncas hoped he could avoid directly answering Cora's questions until they arrived to their destination, so his answers were rare, short and lacking. He decided upon picking her to accompany him to the hidden branch den. She was a strong woman and would not completely lose it when unexpectedly faced with her enemy. He will probably have to endure her understandable wrath, yes, but at least she won't try to immediately plunge a knife into the man. At least he hoped so.

He also chose her because of her superior medical knowledge, as he wasn't sure his own would be enough. Magua was surely more skilled in field medicine and knew more tricks than him, but could not heal his wound. Therefore it would be useless for him to try heal it on his own. If this wound was beyond Magua's expertise, it was far beyond his. But Cora might just know what to do.

"We have been walking for so long, how much further are you taking me? Have you been going so far on your daily walks? As your doctor I must advise you against this. You are not ready to handle such strenuous physical activities."

Uncas nodded dutifully and assured her they were close. Sure enough, they layed eyes on the hidden branch den only minutes later. Cora was surprised at finding a man-made shelter so deep in the wilderness and couldn't help to admire the skill with which it was built. Her curious expression fell when Uncas pulled the branches out of the way.

Magua hasn't moved an inch and was still lying on the ground in the same position. There were a few moments of silence as Uncas watched Cora's eyes bulge out of her head, trying to register what she was seeing. He didn't know how to explain his decision to her, so he decided to let her speak first. She came around quicker than he thought she would.

"What…isn't that…is he dead? Because if not, we need to see to his death with our own hands. You have your knife with you?"

Uncas was slightly taken aback by her ruthless determination, but could understand where she was coming from. Despite her justifiable animosity, he couldn't let her do that. Cora sensed his reluctance to comply to her plan, as he didn't make a move to reach for his weapon. Her eyes narrowed and carefully searched his face. She was as perceptive as ever.

"Please don't tell me you already found this vile creature yesterday and for some insane reason didn't finish him off. You did, didn't you?" Uncas could only lower his gaze in affirmation. Cora's whole body practically bristled. "Give me your knife. Give me the knife! If you shan't do it, I will relieve the world of this demon with my own two hands. Don't think me uncapable of doing so. Hand me the knife!"

Uncas steeled himself, took a deep breath. " I can't. Please don't try to take it by force", he added as Cora circled him and tried to grab the weapon from his belt. His quiet and gentle tone of speaking had no calming effect on her.

" We are not sparing him, if that is what you are thinking. He came upon us like a curse and what he did is unforgivable. Unforgivable! He shall burn in the pits of hell!" All the situations Uncas has sever seen Cora in, she always maintained her polite and dignified countenance. There was no sign of the prim, proper and pious English lady now. But after coming this far, backing down was not an option for him. He spoke a little sterner.

"We won't kill him. You are shocked and upset right now, but you are not a cruel woman who can spill someone's blood with no remorse. You would regret it later, I know."

"You are wrong! You don't know the first thing about me!"

" Taking someone's life in this manner will haunt you. You are not a cruel woman, capable of killing in such cold blood. You will regret the rashness of your decision. I am sure of that." His words or the gentle, knowing tone in his voice seemed to give Cora a slight pause. She grimaced in thought, but continued.

"He hurt me. Look at yourself, he hurt you. He hurt Alice! Do you not care about that, or have you forgotten? He should die!"

Of course he hasn't forgotten. How could he? Alice's horror stricken features had burnt themselves into his memory on that fateful day. He couldn't help but partially agree with Cora, but he wasn't backing down. "Do you believe everyone who had ever hurt us should die?" He kept his voice flat and void of emotions.

Cora honestly looked like she was about to slap him. But then she pulled back from him and unclenched her fists, letting her arms dangle at her sides. "No one has ever hurt me or Alice in this way, to such an extent. But what is it that you even want from this, from keeping him alive? I sense you aren't backing down from your lunatic plan and I can only guess you brought me here to try and heal this deplorable man. You are going to waste my promised favour on _this,_ and as I keep my promises, I will have to humor you in this madness. But what is the point of this? What is it that you want from this?"

That was a good question. One that he didn't have an answer to. "I don't know."

"You don't know."

Calming her fury, Cora was finally left with nothing else but to do what was asked of her. Her eyes were serious as she gave Uncas a piercing look. "You are a good man. I know that is why you are doing this. But your heart is too soft for your own good. Nothing good will come from this, let me warn you. Also, if his existence ever threatens Alice or anyone else in the slightest, I will kill him. Nothing will stop me."

Uncas could agree to that.

Cora approached her patient, not hiding her displeasure in the slightest. The source of Magua's grave condition could be easily located by the dark, crusted stains on the shawl covering his body. Uncas could swear he heard Cora mutter something about teaching Nathaniel to aim better and save her the troubles of having to worry about his loose ends.

The fabric of the shawl was glued to the wound with crusted blood, and Cora had some trouble with peeling it off. After trying to gently separate the fabric from the skin bore no fruit, she resorted to tugging at it with jerky movements. Finally succeeding, the infected wound was revealed. Cora and Uncas were both assaulted by a new wave of the foul, decaying smell. The hole blown into the torso was oozing and violently red, filled with yellowish pus. Cora scrunched up her nose and waved her hand through the air in front of her face. The unpleasant conditions, however, didn't distract her from analyzing the situation.

"Wow, this is nasty. It almost looks like he didn't tend to his wound at all." Of course, all the used bandages and medicinal brews strewn around the den spoke otherwise, so Cora settled on a different diagnosis. "Or, there is a foreign body still stuck in the wound and he couldn't take it out. A bullet most likely. If I remember correctly, Nathaniel fired his musket at him a couple of times. He got him good after all." She looked almost pleased before she sighed and sent her Mohican assistant to get some fresh water. While Uncas would be looking for it, she would get down to the dirty work. "Take your time, because this is going to get ugly."

It did get ugly. When he returned, Cora was digging into the wound with some sort of thin, long metal pliers. Her struggle with the pus was obvious. She couldn't see if her instrument was sinking into the wound at the right angle, so her prodding was being performed more on instinct than anything else. Uncas' respect for Cora grew immensely, as she looked nothing but irked by the troublesome job, not slightly nauseated like he himself was feeling. Not so long after, Cora retracted the medical pliers with a pleased hum. In the grip of the instrument was what Uncas suspected to be a bullet fragment, but couldn't really tell since the small object was covered in colourful body abscesses.

Cora used the water he brought to thoroughly clean the wound after scraping away as much pus and dried blood as possible. Despite now having a more monochrome look, the wound still looked horrible. Angry red and deadly. Magua was either incredibly resilient or incredibly lucky to not have succumbed yet. Probably both.

After wrapping everything up, Cora forced the remaining clean water down the Huron's dried up throat, stating that hydration was the most crucial at the moment. He was probably too weak to even drink in the last few days. She also pointed out that he could still die (and that she still considers that the most favourable outcome).

"When the others find out about this, I still won't support your decision to let him live. I simply cannot bring myself to vouch for the life of that man. But I promise I won't feed the flame of hatred in the others with my own. I shall not express my personal opinion on this", said Cora on their way back to the cabin. Uncas expected nothing more of her and thanked her for what she was willing to give. They once again covered Magua with the branches and cleaned any evidence of blood and pus from Cora's hands and dress. Any residues on her person would raise questions. Cora reluctantly agreed to keep the secret until it would be clear if Magua lives or dies.

Then they would tell.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** _Am I a lazy piece of shit? Yes I am._

The Huron's wound needed to be tended to daily. Given the delicacy of the situation, sneaking away unnoticed was necessary, but troublesome. The extended absences of Cora and Uncas on the first few days had risen some questions. Cora brushed them off with reasonable lies, not batting an eyelid at doing so. She was a proficient liar when the circumstance called for it. It was obvious that they would have to change tactics.

Therefore on most days, Cora visited the wounded man alone. Once she memorized the way, she promptly told an uneasy Uncas that she could handle her potentially dangerous patient on her own. After all, she had handled wounded, fussy men many times before. Uncas warned her to be careful anyway.

Despite the new arrangement, it wasn't easy. Nathaniel wasn't really all that suspicious, but he was hungering for Cora's attention and was therefore definitely the hardest to shake off. Alexandria sometimes wanted to accompany Cora to her supposed visits to other frontier families in need of medical assistance for a sick child or wounded family member, but was always politely turned down. Usually being one of the few nurses amongst a barely manageable swarm of wounded gave her a habit of working alone, Cora told her. The older Munro sister was at least glad Alice was too preoccupied with helping Alexandria and befriending the children to notice anything.

After the very first visit, the water seemed to have returned some life into Magua. When the next visit came around, they found him with his dagger (which they had forgotten to remove from his vicinity) loosely gripped in his hand and pressed against his chest. His eyes were opened just a slit, unfocusedly and sluggishly darting left and right. When Cora, stubborn and unyielding as always, ignored it and went to check on the wound, the Huron striked in her direction. His fever and weakness slowed down his movement and incoordinated the strike. The blade missed Cora's arm by a good distance.

The woman growled and expertly snatched the offensive weapon from his grasp, like a father that has caught his child playing with his hunting knife. To be able to perform her checkup undisturbed, she promptly sedated the man. With the Huron once again still and pliant, her work was quick and efficient.

But there was one thing Cora was mistaken about. Alice did notice. They were sisters, after all. The older woman was forgetting that although less experienced and observant, Alice knew her just as well as she knew Alice. Despite the masterfully applied cover, Alice sensed a weird uptightness in her sister's countenance. That was the funny thing about siblings. One couldn't always tell what was wrong, but could always sense something wasn't right.

And so, Cora nearly jumped out of her skin one early morning leave, when her sister's sweet voice unexpectedly cut through the quiet morning air right behind her back.

"Where are you going?"

The brunette surpressed her startle and spun around gracefully. "Why, to check on my newly acquired patients." Not exactly a lie.

Alice's light expression, which just moments ago radiated the satisfied look of someone who just caught another person with their hand in the cookie jar, morphed into a solemn one. Her mouth tightened and her eyes shone like those of a child who wasn't let in on a secret. She struggled for a moment to find words. "Yeah, I know. But…what else?"

Cora raised her eyebrows. "What do you mean, what else?"

Again, a struggle for words. "I just…I feel like…you aren't talking to me. Or at least not as much as before. Or something like that." "What are you saying? We talk every day, Alice. While doing chores, during dinner, before bed. I don't understand what you are trying to say."

The younger girl was looking at the ground, furrowing her forehead. "I know. But just…you're being weird. I don't know how else to say it. And I don't like it, it makes me uneasy. You're being very…short with me. Like, you don't tell me the things you usually do. What took you so long, what kind of people did you meet."

Cora let out a short laugh to cover up a wince. So Alice has caught on to something. She wasn't sure what, but even so, her words came uncomfortably close to the heart of the matter. What kind of people did she meet, see. Yeah, she couldn't tell her that. She would protect her sister from the unpleasant truth for as long as she could. "I know I'm being weird, but so is everything else since we came here. Our lives are a little different now. If we plan to stay here, we need to adapt to the new circumstances. Don't worry, you and I are still getting used to it all. I'm sorry if I really was behaving so differently. Just give me some more time and everything will fall right back into place, you'll see." She smiled at her sister, hoping she will be satisfied with her explanation.

Alice searched Cora's eyes with her own, as if trying to weight the truth in her words. Finally, she nodded that she understood. Cora released a breath she didn't realize she was holding. With her sister's worries adequately placated, it was time to proceed with her duties.

"Can I come with you?"

Cora couldn't believe this. She faced her sister again, doing her best to hide her irritation. She knew there was nothing to be irritated about, but she couldn't let Alice unintentionally blow the cover. It was for her own safety, after all. "Mrs. Cameron needs you. You are doing a wonderful job, helping her with the responsibilities like that. You have eased her everyday's burdens tremendously. I think it's best if you stick to your duties and I shall stick to mine."

Despite her best effort, Alice must have picked up on her irritation, because she clenched her fists and ground out her own tenseness. "I don't understand! The night we had stitched Uncas' wounds, you encouraged me to learn about medicine, as I might need it one day. But now you don't want me with you to watch and learn? What…why do you push me away? I don't understand. Why can't I go with you?"

It hurt Cora to be accused of pushing Alice away, but she felt like she needed to end this confrontation. Now. Their quarrel was getting to a point where it could attract attention of someone in the cabin. She couldn't risk anyone seeing her disappear into the forest. She will first have to travel in the direction of the other cabins anyway, for Alice will be following her with her eyes.

"Not today Alice, all right? We will clear this misunderstanding up later when I return. I really have to get going." And with that, she made her way towards the frontier village, leaving the other girl standing in the clearing.

Alice stood there for a while, watching Cora's figure disappear in the distance. Fisting her skirts, she took her time trying to calm her breathing. Fighting with Cora always managed to upset her in the worst ways. But she really, really had this feeling that something was strange. But it didn't really matter now, did it? When she at least felt composed on the outside, she started walking back to the cabin.

It was still early enough to be chilly outside, the warmth of the sunlight not yet strong enough to penetrate the frilly morning mists. Even plagued with dark thoughts, it was hard not to notice the beauty of nature. You could never get a view like this in England. Like its inhabitants, the trees there were prim, proper and controlled. Here they were left to grow big and wild. It made the land look a thousand years England's senior. Mysterious.

Approaching the cabin, she spotted a figure sitting on the porch, basking in the nature's alluring beauty. It was Chingachgook, sitting on the wooden floor and drawing smoke from a long, intricately carved pipe. He looked so peaceful one could have mistaken him for a long forgotten forest spirit, overlooking the quiet wilderness for centuries. She never quite knew how to talk to the old Indian. He didn't seem like someone who could be engaged into light, idle chit chat. It was no different this time around, not that she felt much like talking at the moment. Therefore she decided to wish him a good morning and then leave him to his meditation. She articulated a polite greeting and was slightly taken aback by his invitation to join him.

"I sense you are distressed. Come and sit down, it is a beautiful morning." Not knowing how to refuse, she obliged and sat down next to him, keeping a respectful distance. She couldn't take the same meditative position as him as her skirts wouldn't allow it ( and besides, a lady is not supposed to sit like that).

A comfortable but pregnant silence stretched between them. The silvery smoke from the pipe tickled her nose. Back in England, she avoided the proximity of men smoking cigars, as the putrid smell burned her sensitive airways and automatically made her hold her breath, only releasing it in a coughing fit when she was surrounded by clean air again. But this was actually quite calming. Whatever Chingachgook was smoking, it had a light sweetly smell and the smoke lacked the heavy, irritating properties that were common for cigars.

"You mustn't hold resentment against your sister. She is doing her best to keep the burdens she placed upon her shoulders to herself." So he heard them. They must have gotten quite loud in the end. She hid her face behind the curtain of her hair in embarrasment. Of course she knew she shouldn't have snapped at Cora like that. She was certain her sister had her reasons. She didn't quite understand the part about Cora's burdens though, as the man beside her evidently liked to speak somewhat in riddles. She was never good at those.

"She is very protective of you. Fiercely so. She keeps matters she thinks you couldn't handle away from you. Well, she tries." He drew smoke from his pipe again, allowing Alice to think about his words. The girl was slightly confused. There was still some anger remaining from earlier, subtly boiling in the pit of her stomach. "What? I'm not some…small child. I can handle the serious matters of life well enough. At least I think so." "Mmm…does she know that?" About that Alice wasn't sure. "I don't know."

Chingachgook straightened where he sat, his weathered back voicing a few muted pops at the stretch. "In an Indian tribe, everyone is aware of each individual's strenght. Men and women alike carry a weapon, ready for the time when they will be tested and forced to show just what they are made of. Life is not easy and so, such times come around often enough. From that day on, everyone knows exactly what someone is capable of enduring. Knowing each other's strenghts makes a tribe stronger and more connected." He paused. "But the Yengeese, they prefer ruling over defenseless people. They believe it makes them all the more powerful. That is why only certain Yengeese men can wield weapons and the rest do not know how to defend themselves, as they were never allowed a chance to learn. Tell me…has anyone ever given _you_ the proverbial weapon?"

Alice blinked at him. She wasn't quite certain what he meant. Girls in England were never to even touch something as a weapon. Ever since she and Cora were little girls, they were well sheltered and protected. Even if they did get in greater trouble (that was mostly Cora), their father was the one who sorted it out and fought their troubles for them. As they got older, Cora became bolder than most English ladies and tried out her own weapon of will and words on some poor men who were just a little bit too pushy or friendly. It was true, since her transformation into the fiery woman she was today, everyone knew what Cora was capable of. Alice didn't dare to be as brave. She couldn't really remember a time when she had to stand up for herself. If she was in need of that, Cora was never far away and she took care of it for her. Her sister would have defended her even if Alice wouldn't want her to. Just because she never got to have a say in difficult situations, did that mean Cora thought she was too soft? Was that what Chingachgook wanted her to realize?

"I don't think so?"

"Then you cannot fault your sister for not being aware of your strenght and limitations. She is only trying to protect you from what she thinks is too much for you."

Alice shook her head. "I don't know, maybe. It's just that she is being strange as of lately. That is what we were discussing rather heatedly back there. I apologize for disturbing your peace."

A small, strange smile crossed Chingachgook's face. It was gone as fast as it came. Instead, a wondering but also knowing expression replaced it. "Hmmm. Yes, they are being rather secretive, are they not?"

Alice frowned for what felt like the hundredth time today. If she kept doing that so frequently, her forehead would wrinkle in a week. "Who? You mean Cora and…Uncas?" She wasn't really sure until she said it out loud. In the past few days, she did have a slight feeling that the young man was avoiding her, even if just a little bit. He was also a bit distant from the others. Whenever they did talk, his words and smile were just as kind and soft as before. But the conversation itself was a little bit…short and rushed and finished before it really ended. She wrote it off as him not feeling well and needing space for recovering. Was his father implying that he was also in on something with Cora? And he was avoiding her because he didn't want her to know?

Chingachgook's eyes sweeped over the forest and he smiled fondly. "My son is always very considerate to the feelings of others, even if at the cost of his own. Therefore he is reserved and hides them away, but he could never hide them from me. I sense he is conflicted."

"I apologize, but are you implying he is doing something he shouldn't be?"

"No. I'm implying he is doing something he thinks he shouldn't be."

Alice leaned back and looked up at the sky. This was all so confusing. "Do you know what he is doing?"

Chingachgook looked at her with a very neutral face. "Perhaps. I raised him well and so I know his actions are honorable. But I believe he worries they will not be perceived as such. Perhaps he fears they will appear foolish or naive. That more bad will come of it than good. As I said, he places the feeling of others above his own. He possibly fears…we shall not accept his decisions and will resent him for them."

There was a clenching feeling in Alice's gut. Guilt. If Cora was helping Uncas with whatever he was up to and if what the old Mohican said was true, then she has unjustly unleashed her frustrations upon her sister. Of course she didn't know those things at the time, but it just proved she reacted rashly. "I'm sorry. If you believe they are doing the right thing, then it must be so. But still, I believe if they told us, we would all be able to see the the righteousness of their doing. We are very close, after all. Almost a family. And family understands."

Chingachgook smiled. "You still have some naivety left in you, but you speak wise words. The right thing can also be an unpleasant thing at the same time, as I'm sure you will learn soon. But I agree with you. The sooner they decide to come out with the truth, the easier it will be. Perhaps they require some helping along."

He stood up and Alice watched after him as he retreated into the cabin. She herself remained seated there for a while longer. Their conversation was like shining a light in the dark. It didn't reveal everything, but it still revealed a lot. Of course she sensed something was off before, but she didn't think it was something like this. She supposed it wasn't so bad. Honestly, despite the old Mohican claiming that he only suspects the nature of Cora's and Uncas' secrecy, she had a feeling he knew exactly what was going on.

And as she found out at the end of the day, she was right. Cora returned in time for dinner and busied herself with chores after that. Neither of the sisters was ready to yet discuss their quarrel, but every time their gazes met, there was a quiet apology in them. They both knew that when they decided to actually face each other, reconciliation will come along easily.

Uncas spent his whole day working with Nathaniel. It was a while since they had time to really be alone and talk. And so, today was really _their_ day. Productivity and good mood was flowing. Even though Uncas reveled in his brother's company, he chose his words carefully. That was the exhausting price of secrets. Really, Uncas knew Nathaniel would be the hardest to tell about the Huron in the forest. He would have a hard time accepting it, if at all. But anyway, the day ended in high spirits.

And maybe it was because of their tangible good mood and obvious reconnection that the following event chose to happen at the very moment. Both brothers were sitting at the table and having a drink, when Uncas felt two sturdy but gentle arms descend upon his shoulders. He looked up into his father's thoughtful face. Chingachgook squeezed his shoulders.

"Ah, son, you try so hard to do the right thing. You always did." Uncas suddenly felt nervous, almost as if his father was saying this with a distinct purpose. "You have an honest heart and I have raised you well. I am very proud of you."

The old Indian patted his son's back and said nothing else. Uncas was almost relieved. So it was nothing. His father was probably reffering to the battle on the cliffs and expressing his relief to have his child alive still. After all, they never talked about the fateful incident before.

Then like an afterthought: "I do hope you know what you are trying to do with Magua."

Really, he should have known his father would catch on early. Still, he nearly choked on his drink. He wasn't the only one.

"What?" gurgled Nathaniel through a mouthful of ale.

This was not how Uncas imagined this going. But if he was being honest with himself, he suddenly felt surprisingly lighter than he had felt in weeks (even with his brother burning a hole into his head with an intense stare). Explaining everything didn't feel so complicated now.

His father always knew how to ease his unnecessary burdens.


	10. Chapter 10

Magua was, year-wise, just coming out of his prime. But on a spiritual level, he felt centuries old. His soul was bitter and tired. Therefore he was completely prepared to embrace death.

But now there were these…these damned kids that came out of nowhere, playing doctors with him. He wished for them to go away and leave him alone. All be damned, he couldn't even die in peace.

His vision was all bleary and unfocused. And was that the same young man who came to fight for Yellowhair on the cliffs? He really should have slit his throat when he had the chance. If he knew he was going to be the one disturbing his final moments, he would have tried to kill him all that sooner.

He still slipped in and out of conciousness, but could remember certain fragments inbetween. After imbibing the first gulps of water in days (with the assistance of unknown hands), he lapsed back into hallucinations, which he guessed was a better sign than the infinite black nothing he was in before. He couldn't perceive what was going on around him in the real world. His senses weren't functioning properly. During one of those feverish nightmares, his left hand subconsciously started feeling around for the knife. That was surprising because at the time, he couldn't even remember what a knife was and that he possesed one, much less where he left it. It must have been instinct. The weapon was later removed from him by the same unseen hands. He couldn't tell when. He had no grasp on time.

He remembered being given more fluid in regular intervals. At some point his ears opened up and he could hear voices around him. Heavily distorted voices, but still. Also, a burning pain let its presence be known in his torso and it was that particular spot that unfortunately got prodded and poked at often. When he finally mustered up the energy to lift his eyelids, things danced around him. Sometimes it was people, others it was just trees.

All too soon for his taste, he could recognize them. It just had to be _them_ , had it? He wanted to groan at his misfortune. At first it was just the dark Munro child and the young Mohican man, but after what felt like awhile, he could also discern the old Indian and his adopted Yengeese son through the crack in his eyelids. For a second there he also thought he saw the Yellowhair.

Yes, Yellowhair. He knew what the Sachem meant when he gave her to him. Take her and start a family again. Magua was repelled by the thought. Not the thought of having a family again, but of having a family with this scrawny kid. Not only was she the daughter of Greyhair (therefore he couldn't treat her with respect even if he tried), but the runt couldn't even take care of herself. How would she possibly be able to take care of children? If the ordeal on the cliffs would not have happened, he would have probably given her to some willing Huron brave to marry. Or if she would have fallen off the cliff. He really wouldn't have cared.

He tried to bring his tired mind to focus on his present situation. What did they want, exactly? Whatever it was, he was sure it was nothing he could give them. Or want to give them, for that matter. They could try getting it out of him by inflicting pain, but torture was an old friend of his.

Whatever it was, he decided to try and postpone the confrontation to another time. To a distant future, preferably. He just wasn't feeling well enough for it at the moment. He was in no condition to even lift a weapon, not to mention a battle of words. The Yengeese were always good at those. The Yengeese were always better at those than him.

And so he kept quiet and to himself, avoiding them by closing his heavy eyes. He didn't have the energy to care if they noticed this or not.


End file.
